Flowercrash Read Online Free Page B

confronting the actions she had taken. “I do not wish to garden for you any longer," she confessed. “I dare not cut off my rootball.”
    Cirishnyan nodded in the sympathetic manner she had. “There are nuances we can make. We want to keep you gardening for us because we must challenge the immorality of the Garden hierarchy as it stands today.”
    “It’s too perilous,” Manserphine said, shaking her head.
    Cirishnyan drank deeply from her goblet, then leaned forward to say with a grin, “But we have this nice petal for you. Suppose, just suppose, you grew upon your body a species of scentlessness that would make gardening for me much easier?”
    Manserphine had heard of invisibility technology, but she had been able to garner nothing other than tale and rumour. Intrigued, she asked, “How?”
    “Did you know that there is a flexible species of hardpetal known as softpetal? It is difficult to grow, and rare. We have noticed your flowing garments. We could sew thin strips of softpetal into them, thereby to give you scentlessness with respect to the whole bed of flower networks and their insects. For example, you would be able to manipulate networks, change the memories of individual flowers, have control over the vectors of swarms of insects, and even of individual insects. The only drawback is that on hot bloomtime days softpetal melts. However if you planned your gardening well, keeping your garments in ice when they did not surround your body, all would be fine.”
    Manserphine grinned. “Flowered up!” This would make her work with the networks easier.
    “But you will require affirming by our spirit of floral sculpture.”
    “Who is that?” Manserphine asked.
    “You shall meet her soon enough.”
    Manserphine sensed a trick. This was a Shrine, after all, and she was known to be an important person. Was there a hint of a plot here? “I trust you are not attempting to graft me into you floral home bed. I’ll never leave the crones.”
    Cirishnyan gestured impatiently with her hands, spilling wine upon the floor. “Absolutely never. You only become available to the blooms of Zaïdmouth as Interpreter, and we want you to stay that way. But the hierarchy of the Garden must be changed, and that is why we want dealings with you.”
    So many people after so few positions of power. Manserphine reflected on the history of political change in Zaïdmouth. It was slow, often ugly. She wondered if Ashnaram, the other leading cleric of this Shrine, was listening in to the conversation—Ashnaram, who was the most vocal member of the Outer Garden, and the best debater.
    “We shall arrange all,” Cirishnyan concluded. “Now then, in whose bed have you planted yourself?”
    “At the Determinate Inn, crone meadow.”
    Cirishnyan wrote something on a hardpetal tablet. “We shall scatter some seeds at your innkeeper until bloomexplode, when we understand you return to the Garden.”
    Manserphine shook her head. “Scentless—the transactions could be pulled. The crones may be observing me.”
    “We enjoy good garden design here,” Cirishnyan laughed. “We can reformulate the fragrance of the transactions. Or use hardseeds.”
    “Flowered up.”
    “Of course, we expect you to observe your own paths for signs of crone coverts, but we shall do the rest. Trust our fragrance. We don’t want to lose you, Interpreter.” She hesitated, as if thinking. “Are there any other petals we can offer you?”
    Manserphine considered, animating her face into smiles to preserve etiquette. Floral sculpture was an emotional creed. “I am low on hardseeds until bloomexplode.”
    Cirishnyan cracked off a corner of her writing tablet and inscribed it with signs. “Take this chit to Pollonzyn, and she shall provide you with a case of hardseeds.”
    “I’m obliged.”
    “Now, walk carefully. See us here if any more reservations are thrown up.”
    Manserphine stood and they embraced, hugging each other for a full minute as custom